A Scandal on Baker Street
by Little Red Umbrella
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, London's famous consulting detective of 221B Baker Street, decided to prove to his older brother that sex was nothing to fear. And Irene Adler serves as the perfect teacher. But he'll end up getting more than he bargained for... Rated M for reasons.


His brother's words rung through the halls of his mind palace like church bells; the sneering tone was identical to one he had heard. They were four powerful, cynical words that made the detective cringe and writhe. These words seemed so insignificant alone, but they pierced his sides from all over.

"How would you know?" Mycroft had said, giving him a light smirk at the end, knowing he had outwitted his younger brother.

It never occurred to Sherlock that having sexual intecourse was something important. To him it never had been. He was a man married to his work, or at least he's convinced he was. He had seen John in-and-out of relationships many times before and occasionally was questioned on his sexuality, resulting in the idea that he was most like asexual. But it wasn't until he was sitting on the velvet couch in the middle of Buckingham Palace, when those words left Mycroft's mouth, that he truly had no idea how sex felt. And then of course, he crossed paths with Irene Adler.

In his time working with her and her case, he felt twisted in a way. From the beginning, he often heard Mrs. Hudson and John whispering theories about him and her. That he was "smitten", "overwhelmed", "in-love". For the first few months, these remarks were easy to brush off his back. With every encounter, every text, every word exchanged with the Dominatrix, Sherlock felt more and more confused. He had no previous impulses of romantic or sexual attraction, and felt bewildered when they began to hit him for the first time. He had no idea that his feelings were related to attraction at first, but as they grew stronger, he had no choice but to single them out and label them that way. Could he, out of all people, possibly be in love?

It was a stupid notion, he thought. Until the two of them were left flying to America to deliver Irene Adler to witness protection. The plane ride happened in silence, each on a different part of the private government jet. Sherlock kept to his mind palace for entertainment, sometimes searching through his phone and answering messages from John. Irene gingerly sipped innocent amounts of wine throughout the flight, just enough to keep herself entertained. But the two rarely exchanged eye contact, both shielded by pride. The hotel room was a different story.

Sherlock traveled with The Woman into the depths of New York City, where witness protection was to pick her up the next morning. Amidst all the people, Sherlock knew he could shield her well enough. He picked up two key cards from the front desk in the lobby, handing one to Irene. Her card ended with an even number, his in an odd. Their rooms would be right across the hall from each other. Her bags were given to the bellhop, and the two made it up to the fourth floor. Sherlock attempted to hastily enter his room and leave her be, but the click of her feels stop precisely next to him right as he reached for his key card.

"Not staying for a glass of wine?" she asked. "I hear they have a fantastic menu."

"I prefer not," Sherlock defended. "I suffer from 'jet-lag'."

"You don't fool me, Sherlock Holmes," Irene teased slightly. "I'm not John, I can tell when you're lying."

Sherlock sighed with a hint of annoyance. "If I have one glass, will you let me be?"

"Possibly, Mr. Holmes," she replied, taking his arm gently and pulling him into her room. Irene slipped out of her jacket and hung it onto the coat rack. She took a glance at the alcohol menu, chose her favorite wine and called the waiters downstairs for a bottle and two glasses. Sherlock took of his long coat as well and hung it up next to hers, proceeding to sit himself down in a chair. He just wanted to get it over with. But as he watched Irene strip down into a more primitive fashion, leaving only her basic dress without any shoes, jewelry or accessory, those foreign feelings began to once again creep up on him.

Sherlock had no real comparison for beauty, yet there was an element in her that he had found nowhere else. His mind palace spun as he tried to find excuses for himself and his thoughts, justifying that her beauty was just outer and he should not be subjected to it as other men would. But he began to realize that it wasn't just her looks. Her inner wit, her mind, her powers of deduction and deception and her overall aura were enthralling to him. Mycroft's words began to kick in. They boiled within him like the water in the pot he used morning after morning for tea. He wanted to pour them out, and he wanted to pour them out into her.

The wine came shortly after. Irene poured them each a glass, sitting across from the detective in another chair. She toasted to him and they both sipped it slightly.

"Tell me, Sherlock Holmes," she said innocently. "What will you do during my time away?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Sherlock sneered slightly. "I'll solve cases and beg John for my cigarettes, that's what I'll do."

She leaned in and placed a hand on his knee. "Don't forget Holmes...you cannot fool me."

There was a brief silence, but Sherlock could no longer contain his impulses, and neither could Irene. It was unclear who had advanced first, but it wasn't long before Sherlock's fingers gripped the straps of Irene's dress and the two pressed their lips against one another. His eyes shut and his arms wanted to rip the dress off of her shoulders. Irene willingly returned his deep kisses, her hands around the collar of his shirt. Expertly, she tore the buttons apart with one tug, revealing his thin, yet chiseled chest. Her fingers slithered across it seductively.

Without hesitation, Irene shoved the detective against the wall. Sherlock hated not being in control, but he was under the dominatrix's hands submissively. She kissed him roughly, passionately, and seductively. She knew that Sherlock enjoyed a rush, a great surge throughout his body, and she gave him one.

"Come on Mr. Holmes..." she teased, licking her lips along the front of her pearly teeth. "Don't tell me you've never tried to enjoy yourself…"

Sherlock's mind tried to produce words, but they were caught in his throat. Instead, he found himself moaning and breathing heavily every time she traced her expert hands along his body.

"You've never pleasured yourself?" she giggled with a sultry tone "You've never opened up your computer to look up something 'naughty'?" She reached down and stroked his toned thigh slowly. "You've never reached down there just to make yourself feel...alive?"

Sherlock shut his eyes as her fingers traced into his inner thigh, and moaned in protest as she ripped them away. Irene's hand tore his shirt completely off and tossed it to the carpet floor. Sherlock followed her lead by slipping his fingers down her back and swiftly unzipping her dress. His hands accidentally outlined her small, yet pleasurably curvy ass. Irene was surprised at his ability to catch onto the act so quickly. She smiled and sunk in her shoulders so that the dress slid off of her sleek body right onto the ground. She hadn't been wearing a bra underneath, but she was still covered by black lace thong and a pair of tight garters.

It was Irene's turn to advance while the detective was under the trance of her nearly naked body. She quietly undid his belt, and then ripped it off in one swift motion. Sherlock felt the leather whip his sides right before the belt flew to the other side of the room, but the dominatrix made sure to keep him captivated. Smiling up at him, she grabbed the sides of his pants and tore them down at the same time that she lowered herself. Kneeling down, she placed her lips right above his hips and began kissing his flat stomach. Sherlock had never been this exposed to another person before.

She stood promptly and whispered into his ear.

"What are you going to do now, Sherlock Holmes?"

Like an animal, Sherlock reached for her garters and unfastened them with haste. His lips pressed against her as he moaned needily, and Irene returned the favor. She led him over to the bed slowly, pulling him by the shoulders. Sitting on the edge, her finger pulled off her black thong, and then proceeded to do the same with Sherlock's underwear. It made him freeze.

"So I was right…" she giggled, seeing his cock for the first time. She wrapped her fingers around it lightly, stroking it. "Your ego does reflect your size…"

Sherlock moaned, grabbing at her shoulders while he stood in front of her. Irene's fingers pulled away and she moved backwards. Spreading her body across the bed, her legs came apart slowly. Sherlock felt his cock harden, and he rushed at her. His arm muscles flexed as he lowered himself over her body. Irene was used to this kind of behavior from a client, especially a first timer, but usually was able to emotionally distance herself from the action. But watching his sharp facial features twist in arousal gave her a personal type of pleasure. Her eyes slowly crossed across his body. She had never seen such chiseled features on a man's chest before. She closed her eyes helplessly and moaned.

"Sherlock…" she whispered. "I want you...to touch me…"

Sherlock could barely comprehend what she meant within the first few seconds of her saying it. But Irene reached for one of his arms, gripping at his wrist. She guided his arm to have him sit back, allowing herself to raise a little. Her hand led his towards her sex, and she made sure his fingers brushed up against it well enough.

"Now keep going, Mr. Holmes…"

Without another word, Sherlock's fingers slid inside of her, and Irene pulsated a little while he worked. His hands were so smooth for a man who worked so much with them. Sherlock continued to pleasure, listening as she moaned and cried out. Just her sounds made him harder. He could barely take it anymore, and no words could describe how he felt. Until he heard her say…

"Take me, Sherlock Holmes. Take me right now."

It took him several tries to finally enter her. Irene guided their movements at first, pulsating with him back and forth. She knew him to be a musician, to have rhythmic capabilities. Once he had caught the motion, he changed the tempo. Sherlock thrusted back and forth, releasing his inner energy, as well as a complete orgasm. Irene tossed her arms around his bare back, gripping at the muscle on his back. The force of his motion was strong and restless. Wild, unlike the Sherlock Holmes she was used to seeing.

Hours flew by while they were connected. For the first time, Irene realized her just how long she could truly take sex when fully aroused. She never remembered crying out this many times while there was someone inside her. It must have been Sherlock's fitness that gave him such stamina, even though the act was new to him. They had rolled around in the sheets, switching positions back and forth. Sherlock had taken to groping her breasts as a distraction sometimes when she was in too much control for him to bear. Irene found that his sharp decollete felt absolutely perfect against her lips. But they never broke apart from each other. Sherlock was intent to keep his cock in her for as long as he could.

Eventually, even Sherlock Holmes wore out. He laid back onto the messy sheets. Pillows were scattered all across the room, and most of the blankets and such draped over the edges of the bed. As soon as comfort hit him, Sherlock Holmes zoned out into sleep. Irene looked down at her beloved detective and pulled away finally. She didn't dare to look at the clock by the nightstand. In all honestly, she didn't even know if it was still there. Running a finger through his curly locks, she proceeded to lean down and kiss him gently. Wrapping herself up with a thin blanket, she rested her head on his pulsating chest, and fell asleep on top of him.

To her dismay, she found that her previous detective slipped away by the time she opened her eyes.


End file.
